


Good Cop, Bad Cop

by ventiskull



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bad Communication, Cop AU, Gabe is the saucy motherfucker in this AU, Gay Drama, Glacially Slow Burn, I say good cop bad cop but they're both pretty bad cops, Jack is emotionally constipated, M/M, Mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, but more like bad at romance cops hah lmfao, but otherwise they're good cops aklsdjfkdsfj, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventiskull/pseuds/ventiskull
Summary: Jack is a police sergeant, newly transferred to the LA precinct and having found himself in a competition and bet with his fellow sergeant Gabriel Reyes. Whoever closes their department's most recent, toughest case first wins.Jack just wants to see that smug look wiped off of Reyes' face.Gabriel just wants to take Morrison out on a date.[Or: the one where Gabriel is annoyingly handsome and charming, meanwhile Jack catches feelings but thinks Gabriel is a huge fuckboy and is only toying with him.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four times Jack Morrison got his heart broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I’d like to apologize in advance for the ensuing inaccuracies in this fic in regards to how precincts or law enforcement or education in the US or whatever else works, I wasn’t able to do as much research as I would have liked due to time constraints (are Brooklyn99 and the first three google search hits considered research?), however I do hope that despite this I’m able to convey the story properly—I find that these details don’t really have much impact on the tale I wish to tell.
> 
> Second, there are multiple dynamics to Gabriel and Jack’s relationship that I enjoy: this time ‘round, I’d like to explore the trope where Gabriel is the saucy motherfucker while Jack is the up-tight, ornery asshole in the relationship. This isn’t a serious fic—it’s just Gabriel and Jack being insanely horrifying at communication, my (bad) attempts at funny dialogue, and just a good ol’ long-winded serving of mutual pining, angst… And of course, eventual romance. I love these two too much to put them through too much, honestly.
> 
> Lastly, this is my first Overwatch fic and the first time I’ve written anything in about… Five years I guess, so please go easy on me.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Updates are indefinite, but I’ll do my best to stick to a Friday weekly update schedule.
> 
> Shall we begin?

Jack Morrison was 17 years old when he realized that he was gay.

He’d had his own sizeable share of encounters with the opposite sex. Had a few dates, a few kisses, a little touching—but never any further, after it dawned on him that perhaps it wasn’t _who_ he was with so much as him realizing he was batting for the wrong team altogether.

Jack was 18 years old when he’d had his first sexual encounter with another man.

Said man was a childhood friend of his: Ryan was his name—with his textbook Midwestern boy charm, his rich brown hair, hazel eyes, broad shoulders, trim waist and muscular, lean frame. His blindingly bright smile. Ryan had been, for quite some time now, the star of Jack’s imagination whenever he touched himself at night. It wasn’t until after senior year prom and copious amounts of (smuggled) alcohol on both parties that Jack dared do anything to make his fantasies a reality.

So Ryan had come home with him—nothing unusual about that, as he, along with other boys in their friend group, had been crashing at Jack’s place for going on 5 years now. Except this time Jack had blurted “I wanna kiss you” as soon as Ryan was inside his room, and Ryan had pushed him against the door and kissed him hard on the mouth. Jack had never gone down on another man in his life, but based on the sounds Ryan had been making, it seemed that he had done good for someone during his first time.

Jack remembers going to sleep floating on clouds and feeling, like everything was right in the world that night—Ryan next to him on the bed instead of his little sofa, feeling light and airy with the post-coital glow, the buzz of alcohol and the warm body beside him.

Except Jack woke up alone and hungover the next morning.

Except Ryan had never spoken to Jack ever since, had actively avoided being alone with Jack, had never come by his house—and ultimately had given Jack _“I’m sorry, I was drunk, it was a mistake, please don’t tell anyone, goodbye”_ for closure before he and his family had moved out of Indiana.

Jack was 18 years old when he had his first heartbreak.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was 21 years old when he would next try to see other people again.

The earlier months of Jack’s college life was a whirlwind of, well, your average college life: long, caffeine-fueled nights of grueling studying and working on projects, and then the other side that’s really just a senseless blur of partying, getting drunk, getting high, making out (sometimes with strangers), and of course, one-night stands.

Eventually, Jack met Marcus.

Marcus was an athlete, a competitive swimmer almost as tall and broad—if not a little more—than Jack himself. He was also blonde, blue-eyed and white, but more tan.

Marcus used to joke that he had never even considered dating another blonde, blue-eyed white guy until he’d met Jack.

They’d met through attending the same parties and gatherings as their mutual friends. They had hit it off pretty quickly: Marcus was a very sociable person who had smiles that could make anyone feel at ease, a relaxed, easy-going demeanor, and was very attentive to the people around him—always remembered to ask about you, about your mom or your dog, always made sure no one was left out of the conversation.

Jack had known Marcus for nearly 2 months before anything happened. Jack had gotten a text from one of his friends—

_“Jack, Marcus is asking if you’re straight. Should I tell him?”_

_“Tell him.”_

_“Jack, he’s asking me to ask you if it’s okay if he got your number.”_

 Jack said yes.

It wasn’t even 10 minutes before Marcus started texting him. It was easy from there—he and Marcus had exchanged easy, meaningful conversation, capitalizing on their already-established friendship. They had been texting for 2 weeks before Marcus had actually asked him out on a date.

It was going well if you asked Jack—the sex was amazing, Marcus was fun to be around, he was a great boyfriend who was understanding and didn’t demand too much of Jack or his time.

Later on, Jack thinks: well, all good things had to come to an end.

Marcus didn’t even have the balls to break up with Jack in person. He’d done it through text during the spring break. The first text had essentially been a long-winded version of _“it’s not you, it’s me”_ , lengthy and full of apologies but never really explaining anything. Jack had called him out on it.

_“That’s bullshit and you know it. Tell me why, Marcus.”_

_“Jack, I just told you.”_

Afterwards of which Jack had bombarded Marcus with calls that all left unanswered when he refused to explain, until Marcus texted back perhaps a day or two later, and dozens of calls.

_“Jack, let it go. Please.”_

_“No. You didn’t even have the guts to tell me in person, you won’t even do it over the phone?”_

_“No.”_

_“I deserve to know.”_

Hours in between the next texts pass.

 " _W_ _ill you stop hounding me if I tell you?”_

_“Just tell me. Is it something I did? Will you give me another chance?”_

_“No…”_

A pause from Jack.

_“Is there someone else?”_

_“No…”_

A pause from the other end.

_“I thought you were hot Jack. That was it. There was nothing else to it.”_

Jack deleted Marcus’ number from his phone then.

He deleted all their pictures together and carefully stashed away all the memorabilia connected to him in a little box full of sentimental junk that Jack held onto. He let his friends know, and so he’d never had to bump into Marcus unwittingly at a social event.

Jack also learned his lesson then—Marcus had tried to let him go gently, but Jack had insisted on knowing a harsh truth he shouldn’t have asked for.

Jack accepted it. That was dating, that was letting in new people in your life—that was life. Jack was young and there were so many people he could still meet in the future. He shouldn’t punish himself for one mishap when he still had so much to look forward to.

None of those thoughts stopped him from crying himself to sleep for a week.

Jack was 22 years old when he had his second heartbreak.           

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was 24 years old when he entered the police academy.

It had been a long time coming now—law enforcement was something Jack, even as a young boy, had always dreamed of getting into but didn’t because of one reason or the other—he couldn’t quite remember _why_.

After a few months of fumbling around with jobs and his degree and finding very little challenge or satisfaction in the work, Jack finally made up his mind. He was already in top physical condition and didn’t have to do much preparation in that area, and then he spent perhaps a month religiously studying for the entrance exam.

Jack had, unsurprisingly, done exceptionally well on both the physical and written exams, and continued to do so well into his days in the academy. Jack had also been much liked by his peers—he was smart, willing to help, _not_ an asshole despite being the top student—the general consensus being _“Morrison’s pretty fun to be around”._ Jack was reaching for his dreams, he had made various great friends, life was pretty good.

Jack had made _one_ great friend in particular.

Jack and Eames had hit it off pretty much from the very beginning of their time in the academy. Eames had a sense of humor and easy-going personality that blended well with Jack’s, and they did very little of the basic social niceties before realizing that they simply got along effortlessly. In no time, they were going out for drinks every Friday night, slowly pulling in other friends from the academy until they had their own little niche of buddies. Jack and Eames were best friends and were rarely seen one without the other and their friends had teased them about being an old married couple—in Jack’s defense, Eames had stoked the fire, _jokingly_ referring to Jack as his husband, or his boyfriend, or his lover. Casual, lowkey intimate touches were the norm for them, and one could even say they “finished each other’s sentences”. Eames playfully fended off Jack’s would-be admirers, proclaiming _“sorry fellas, he’s mine”_.

Jack fell fast, and he fell hard. The idea of having a relationship with his best friend was extremely appealing to the romantic side of him.

All he had to do was take the initiative.

He thought back on his entire history with Eames so far, looked for signs that what he felt wasn’t one-sided (it couldn’t be, not with how he’s been with Jack the last 8 months, could it?), and after careful consideration resolved to tell Eames how he felt.

Jack found the perfect opening when he and Eames were alone, Eames talking about something like _“Halen says he didn’t wanna intrude on our date night”_ , or some such thing, Jack was barely paying attention from running all the possible simulations of how he’d confess right then and there, then he interjected—

_“So why aren’t we?”_

Eames paused.

_“What?”_

_“Dating._ ” Jack stopped to consider his next words carefully.

_“We kinda already are, Eames. What I’m saying is, we could definitely take it a little further—”_

_“Oh Jack.”_ Jack’s composure shattered at the sound of that one _oh Jack_ —with Eames’ tone it was hard to tell if he what he was going to say next was going to be good or bad.

_“Oh god Jack—you—you thought—Jack—I’m straight.”_

There it was.

Jack had never been a religious man, but he prayed right then and there to whatever god was listening to open a hole in the earth and swallow him whole. Something inside Jack’s stomach had gone stone-cold and heavy. One part of him wanted to apologize to Eames for the assumption and doing irreversible damage to their friendship, while another part of him wanted to beat the shit out of him for leading him on all this time knowing full-well that Jack was gay. Neither side of him won and so he sat there, stunned, silent. The silence was broken by a long, heavy sigh from Eames.

_“Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on, okay? I didn’t know you felt—that you’d feel—”_

The emergency services in Jack’s brain went to work, and on the last minute he decided to go for a quick save in hopes of sparing the little dignity he had left after the colossal blunder he’d just made of confessing his _very gay_ feelings to a _very straight_ man _._

Jack laughed—quite mirthlessly—but he hoped he was convincing enough.

 _“Shit, Eames, calm down. It’s okay. I just thought I’d ask. It’s not a big deal.”_ Eames stared at him, bug-eyed. Jack laughed again, playfully, lightly tapping Eames’ face as was their usual thing.

 _“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a straight man of all things, but—”_ Jack was interrupted mid-sentence by a guffaw of laughter from Eames, and Jack laughed with him.

_“Anyway. You’re a great guy, Eames. I’d be stupid to not ask first. Some girl’s gonna be real lucky someday.”_

_“Well, I hope I meet her soon.”_

_“Me too bud.”_

There was more laughter and the two had made casual conversation as per usual, and then it was an hour, then 2 hours, then Jack made up some bullshit excuse to go home because he didn’t think he could handle any more faking and pretending he was unbothered when Eames had essentially just taken his heart and stomped it into bloody pulps right in front of him.

 _“Hey, Jack—”_ Eames calls out just as Jack was about to leave. Jack turns around.

 _“We’re still cool, right?”_ Jack laughs dryly, again hoping he was being convincing.

 _“Eames, chill. We’re cool.”_ He says, before waving and walking away.

Jack hadn’t even pulled out of the parking lot when the tears started falling.

 _It’s my fault,_ he thought, considering he hadn’t even bothered to ask if Eames explicitly if he was into men before making his stupid assumptions, blinded with fantasies about being in a happy, fulfilling relationship with a man that was already his closest friend.

It was only a few months into graduation, and so Jack had undertaken the task of nursing his broken heart in peace and acting normal for the sake of posterity, as if absolutely nothing at all had so much as marred his friendship with Eames. The people around them bought the lie—they had to, as Jack was going through extra miles to make it believable

Graduation swung by, goodbyes were made as people were stationed in different places.

 _"Don’t be a stranger Jack, alright?”_ Eames had said to him that day.

 Jack never stayed in touch with Eames, despite the few efforts here and there that he made. Jack would forgive Eames in time, maybe even be genuine friends with him again—but not while he was still hurting, not when he hadn’t had proper time to grieve for himself after months of pretending he was fine. Jack knows he’ll move on, in time. But for now, he’ll give himself time to ache.

 Jack was 25 years old when he had his third heartbreak.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was 27 years old when he finally became a police detective.

By any standard, Jack’s career was on the rise. Jack was popular among his co-workers and his superiors—smart, charismatic, responsible and with astounding case and arrest rates that showed no signs of stopping. In a few years’ time Jack could have easily made captain, and he was gearing himself up for just that.

As for his dating life, well—it was at this point that Jack had finally admitted to himself that casual sex just wasn’t for him.

It was less the fucking that he was after and more the comfort of having someone to wake up next to—someone to get to know, someone to come home to after a long and hard day that he wanted, but it seemed that none of Jack’s partners had been interested in something so serious, committed and intimate. Jack knew he was attractive, and he had lowered his best expectations to someone texting or calling him for a second or third round, but nothing more. It seemed to Jack a waste of time and energy when the sex really was just sex and not the prelude to something more.

So, Jack had stopped sleeping around.

Jack met Nathan when he was 29 years old.

Nathan was easily one of the handsomest men Jack had ever met in his life, also easily one of the smartest, one of the kindest, one of the most… Well, everything. Nathan was special. Nathan was different.

Jack was hard-pressed to say that maybe Nathan was _the one._

He was a new local defense attorney, one their division had often consulted with in a variety of cases. At first, Jack had perceived Nathan to be an aloof and severe man—with a man in his line of work (and maybe a man with his good-looks), his attitude wasn’t all that surprising. Later, Jack would find out it was only because _he_ thought _Jack_ was very good-looking and severe, and found himself a little intimidated by the thought of trying to be chummy with Jack, and perhaps a little unprofessional. They had both laughed at that revelation.

His senior partner’s retirement was what brought Jack and Nathan closer. They spent more and more time consulting over cases—the aftermath being they’d ended up being friendly with each other. Jack found out that past his professional demeanor, Nathan was funny and clever, with the kind of dry, sarcastic humor that Jack enjoyed—among other positive qualities Jack enjoyed were his intellect, Nathan was also kind and attentive, hard-working and caring, and had memorized Jack’s food and coffee order from the nearby café to give to him whenever they met for work.

Jack enjoyed an easy acquaintance with Nathan, and Jack—too busy with his work, as he’d intended—had actually been caught off-guard when Nathan had, out of the blue, asked him out on a date.

 _“I—sorry, what?”_ Nathan seemed to curl in on himself a little at that. He cleared his throat and shifted a little in his seat.

 _“I said—Jack, would you go out with me?”_ Jack’s brain hung up a little at that and chose to go with possibly the least appropriate response in that moment. Jack chuckled.

 _“How do you know I’m not straight?”_ Nathan seemed to get back a little of his composure. He let out a breathy laugh.

 _“I don’t, actually. I just kinda went in blind hoping you weren’t and then maybe attempt to persuade you to try something new if you were.”_  Jack laughed harder at that, then he paused, furrowing his brows in concentration and rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he considered the offer. He hadn’t thought of being anything more than work acquaintances with Nathan on account of how busy he always was, and of course, on account of all of Jack’s previous bad relationships.

But Jack also, begrudgingly, knew that he was very lonely.

 _It’s just dinner, Jack._ He thought to himself. Nathan wasn’t such a bad option.

 _“Well, you’re in luck. Because I’m not.”_ He finally said. Nathan perked up at the confirmation and smirked at Jack.

_“Is that a yes, Officer Morrison?”_

_“Yes.”_

Things, for a time, had only gone uphill from there. _A_ dinner date became 3, then 7, then several. Jack grew to be very fond of Nathan and found himself wanting to get to know him better than he already did. It was a month before they’d even kissed, another month before they’d had sex—they’d confirmed that neither of them really felt like they immediately had to, just that they were both just so enamored in getting to know each other. Date nights had evolved to Jack spending more time in Nathan’s apartment than his own, and their relationship had a _label._ Nathan was Jack’s boyfriend. They’d already introduced each other to their own families.

Jack finally, _finally_ had someone he could say he truly _loved_ to come home to, finally had something in his life he never thought he’d ever had.

They’d been dating for 2 years when Nathan proposed.

Jack said yes.

It was going to be a beach wedding.

Life was good—almost too good to be true.

And it was.

 

Nathan, as it turned out, had been cheating on Jack.

 

Jack wished he had found out some other way instead of walking in on his fiancé balls-deep into another man in Nathan’s home, in the bed they _shared,_ looking to surprise him by coming home earlier from a trip to his family.

He said nothing then, instead he calmly slipped off the engagement ring Nathan had given him and tossed it at him. Jack was back inside his car before Nathan could put on some pants and attempt to explain himself and the situation. He’d locked himself up in his apartment then, lounging on his sofa, mindlessly watching television and couldn’t be bothered to even move to turn his phone to silent while it ceaselessly pinged with call and text notifications.

Jack had never felt more numb in his life.

It was 2 hours and his phone at 5% before he picked it up to check for notifications. He read the top most text, the most recent one from Nathan:

_“I was going to stop when we got married.”_

Jack didn’t the read rest and deleted the entire thread and cleared his notifications. He let his phone die and didn’t bother to charge it. It was Friday night—he took a shower, a sleeping pill, and promptly went to bed, his sleep deep, dreamless, and long.

Jack was 31 years old when he told himself this was the last time he’d ever get his heart broken. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack was 35 years old when he met Gabriel Reyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very much appreciated! Come find me on [twitter!](https://www.twitter.com/ventiskull)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes some time off for self-care and getting his shit together. Also, he gets a dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know the last chapter and this chapter probably seems/will seem a little grim and heavy but I swear this entire thing isn’t as serious as it sounds. Just a little more elaborate back story and such, please bear with me! Disclaimer: I’ve never been to the United States and I know zilch about LA but I really felt like using it as a setting (“City of Overwatch” or some such thing just felt a little corny, idk) and Indiana gets mentioned often so it would make sense to keep the use of real places consistent so… Yeah, I guess you could say maybe it’s only named LA but not LA. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Again I did promise slow burn, so it's just a lot more foundation this time round.
> 
> Also: Mentions of alcoholism and depression. Here we go.

Jack took a 3-year-long break after the disaster of his broken engagement.

Or rather, he’d decided he needed a change in scenery and some time to step back to evaluate the state of his life and consider his next moves.

But first and foremost, Jack had to leave. Maybe it was cowardly and weak, but there was simply no preventing the news of his tragic would-be marriage from getting around. Nathan at least had the decency to now show up where Jack worked and didn’t cause a scene—though his texts and calls (straight to voicemail) remained persistent.

Jack couldn’t take it. Among many things Jack couldn’t stand, it was pity.

He appreciated his friends and coworkers’ consideration and good wishes but he couldn’t stomach the kind of treatment he was getting: like he was fragile and like he would shatter at any moment. They were very all careful not to bring up Nathan within earshot of him, people were lessening his workload as some sort of consolation prize and a silent offer of “take some time off”—when Jack wanted the complete opposite, to lose himself in work so he would have neither the time nor the energy to pay attention to all the ugly feelings that desperately tried to claw their way out of his chest cavity.

Most of Jack’s nights consisted of either being fully immersed in his cases or working himself to exhaustion at the gym—usually boxing—taking his rage out on whichever poor bastard was unfortunate enough to have ended up sparring with him. Jack had picked up smoking again to calm his fraying nerves, and most nights he’d drink himself to sleep (but not enough to give him hangovers the following morning), take some aspirin when he woke up and then went about his day like everything was right in the world.

His friends, his coworkers and even his _parents_ all regularly checked up on him and tried to get him to talk about it, but Jack was adamant about repressing his own emotions and insisting that he was _“dealing with it”_ and he just _“needs some time to figure it out”,_ when in reality all he’d been doing was vehemently avoiding the problem.

Jack’s self-destructive behavior had persisted for the better part of 2 months.

At this point he’d virtually alienated himself from most people around him. At work he was always quiet if not outright irritable, he kept a strict routine that included only the precinct, his apartment and the gym. He’d stopped responding to people reaching out to him altogether.

Jack lost weight, his complexion looked sickly and his eyes were ringed with bruise-like circles—overall, Jack looked very, _very_ far gone.

Until Jack decided that he’d had enough.

It was a strange thing, really. It had been just another hazy alcohol-filled night for Jack and he’d dropped his bottle of bourbon, the bottle remaining intact but not without rolling off underneath Jack’s bed. Jack heaved a heavy sigh as he got on all fours, sticking his arm in and blindly groping in the darkness for the lost bottle. In his search, his hand had found something else.

It was nothing spectacular—just a plain old shoebox with a thin layer of dust covering the lid.

Jack knew exactly what he had found, what possessed him to pull it out of its hiding place, he’d never know.

He’d never admit it, but Jack was a sentimental man. He opened the box.

He’d kept a lot of memorabilia in that box—pictures with his significant others, small gifts, knick-knacks and souvenirs that, even in his alcohol-addled state, he could recall the occasion and origin for: a first date, a birthday, a movie, a “ _this reminded me of you so I got it_ ” gift, a year-long celebration present. Slowly, almost methodically, he goes through the contents of the box.

Jack doesn’t know when he started crying, but as soon as he noticed the lines of moisture that had slowly crept down his face, the soundless tears devolved into sobbing—a bone-tired, unrestrained sobbing that was the physical manifestation of not only the last 2 months, but also the last few years of subdued heartache he’d taken lengths to bury and repress. Jack cried on the floor of his bedroom, his body shaking violently with the force of his low wails and ragged breathing. Jack cried until he physically couldn’t anymore, until he used the last of his energy to pull himself up onto his bed and slept—sober, for the first time in a long time.

Jack woke up with, for lack of a better term, a renewed sense of purpose the next morning—it wasn’t a thundering, earth-shattering epiphany—rather, something more akin to the feeling of the senses slowly calibrating back to reality after a long dream that already seemed to be slipping away from your memory.

Jack had had enough—that was the best way of putting it. That weekend morning, he woke up with the sun, washed his face, brushed his teeth, changed into freshly-ironed clothes, and managed to coerce himself into leaving his apartment and eating breakfast at a little café in his neighborhood instead of the routine he’d grown accustomed to of sleeping well into the afternoon and foregoing meals altogether. It was a grey and windy autumn day and he decided it was a good time for a walk, and so he walked. Jack had no specific destination in mind, he simply walked and walked, finally giving himself into the pressing matter of entertaining the thoughts he’d left neglected in the backburners of his mind for so long. Jack walked until his feet finally took him back to his own home sometime in the afternoon. He took a shower, changed into something comfortable, turned on the radio and began the task of tidying up his shabby apartment. He threw away the shoebox and all its contents without a second thought.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack handed in his resignation on Monday. He spent the 2-week notice tying up all the loose ends he may have had in his work or, at the very least, making it easier to pick up for the next person he would take over. He spent his free time writing back messages to his parents and all the friends he’d ghosted during the throes of his depression. He began communicating with his friends at the force again, apologizing for his behavior and generally just doing his best with the time he had to at least make sure he didn’t leave on bad terms. They were, much to his surprise and delight, quite understanding of his conduct and his reasons for wanting to leave and turn over a new leaf. Jack also devoted a lot of his free time looking into cities he could move into and jobs he could take. Jack had a lot of promising options.

 

The force had thrown him a thoughtful going-away party at the office (with joking orders given by his superintendent to shoot Nathan on sight if he even came close to the vicinity)—Jack had said his goodbyes and promised to keep in touch and overall, he felt very good about himself and his decision.

 

Afterwards he flew back to Indiana to spend a short vacation with his parents. Jack always had a pretty good and open relationship with his parents, and so he explained to them what had transpired in the last few months and what he planned to do next. His parents were very supportive and let him know they’d be willing to help with whatever he needed (financial or otherwise). When they were done talking over coffee and pastries and it was time a little too late in the night to go on, his mother had hugged him tightly, but said no more before she made her way upstairs to sleep. His mother had spent the rest of that short vacation cooking feasts and telling Jack off for smoking in her house, and in time Jack had begun to look much, much healthier than he had been when he first returned to his childhood home.

After much deliberation, Jack had decided to move to LA working for a private security company. He was set to fly over in a week, and so he’d left Indiana with the hollows in his cheeks filled and, for some reason, a wad of pocket money his father had given him despite being 31 years old.

When he was finished packing his things, it felt to him like a large and heavy weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

Jack was ready to start again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   

The house was smaller than Jack was accustomed to, but he figured it would be much easier to manage. It was also well-placed—no more than a 20-minute walk from his workplace as well as commercial establishments like a mini-grocery, a few eateries, cafes, 24-hour convenience stores, among other things. The neighborhood was also well-populated but not enough to be considered busy and rambunctious. Overall it was a quaint, charming place to live in.

Jack spent the better part of 3 days refurbishing the little house as he’d brought almost nothing with him from his previous home. Jack was a simple man, he kept his living quarters spacious and outfitted with more or less just the barest essentials—simple, but tasteful. (The term _bachelor’s pad_ comes to mind.) There was, however, one last thing Jack had decided to get that was still missing from his new home.

So, Jack had scheduled a visit to the local animal shelter.

He was always fond of dogs, but his sister and mother had allergies and so their family had never been able to take care of one—Jack doesn’t know why he hadn’t entertained the idea of adopting a dog during the last few years of his independent adult life, but he was glad that the thought had occurred to him again. He’d already bought some implements for his would-be pet during his home shopping escapades, now all that was left to actually pick one (or two, who knew). He hadn’t felt child-like excitement in years the way he did the when he first set foot in the shelter. Jack didn’t really have a specific kind of dog he wanted in mind, he was hoping that when he met the dogs, he’d just know.

Which was exactly what had happened. He’d met a lot of energetic, loving dogs and puppies that took a liking to Jack quite easily—it broke his heart that he couldn’t take them all home, but Jack had taken to a quiet, seemingly reserved and even-tempered English bull terrier—white with a single patch of brown fur over one eye. It lay at the very back of its enclosure, paws crossed in front of it, watching Jack with its small, beady eyes that seemed to radiate human-like intelligence—as if it was scrutinizing Jack, inspecting him, assessing. Jack was patient, meeting the dog’s gaze as he crouched down, holding his fist out for the dog to sniff. Eventually, the dog moved from its place and slowly padded its way towards Jack, still looking at him warily, then it smelled Jack’s hand. A few moments later, the dog’s tail began to wag, and it nudged Jack’s knuckles with its moist nose, then licked him. Jack smiled, gingerly scratching the dog behind its ears.

“Huh.” Jack hears the volunteer say behind him, who’d been quietly watching Jack try to win the dog’s favor. Jack looks back at him, still petting the dog.

“That’s Bruce—you know, like the shark from Finding Nemo, because he kind of looks like a shark.” Jack laughed at that—looks back at the dog, his white fur, pointed snout, tiny, sharp teeth and small, dark eyes actually did kind of make him look like a shark-dog. He thought it was cute.

“Hey, Bruce.” He said, moving his hand to scratch the dog’s sides.

“Well, that’s new. He doesn’t really take well to strangers and other dogs, always keeps to himself. It’s rare he ever approaches visitors, let alone allow for rubs. Guess he likes you.”

“I like you too, buddy.” Jack said to the dog, scratching him with more enthusiasm now until Bruce rolls onto his back, allowing Jack to scratch his belly now.

“We rescued Bruce here from some dude who ran a fighting ring. Took a while to get him to trust people again, but he never bit anyone. He can be sweet when he feels like it, hella smart dog, too. But he’s been here a while—people don’t take much to English bull terriers I suppose. Most folks find ‘em scary on account of the muzzle and such. They might put him down soon.” The volunteer says, crouching next to Jack and scratching the dog behind the ears. Jack had made his decision then.

“He’s perfect. I’ll take him.”

“Great! Let’s get him ready then.” The volunteer nodded and grinned at Jack, almost skipping as he went back to the offices to take care of some papers, obviously elated that Bruce had finally found a home.

“I think we’ll get along just fine.” Jack says to Bruce, scratching him under his chin, Bruce responding by sticking his tongue out and cocking his head just a little to the side, as if he was agreeing with Jack.

Bruce had gone home with Jack that day, quietly following after him even without a leash, sitting on the passenger seat of Jack’s car with the temperament of a wise old man, curiously looking out the window and the scenery that whizzed by, and then eventually falling asleep. When the drive was over, Jack toured Bruce around the modest house, and his heart warmed at the sight of the dog’s tail constantly wagging as he explored his new home with obvious excitement.

Bruce even let Jack give him a bath that afternoon. He sat quietly while Jack ran warm water over his body and lathered his fur (the shampoo smelled like watermelons), which was when Jack got a closer look at the little keloid scars and bald patches that littered his body. _“We rescued him from a dude who ran a fighting ring.”_ Jack remembers what the shelter volunteer told him.

“Had a rough life, did you buddy?” He says, rinsing the soap suds out of Bruce’s fur. He swore he’d do right by this dog.

Afterwards, they’d watched television on Jack’s couch, Jack drinking tea and occasionally giving Bruce treats as he lay next to Jack, and eventually resting his head on Jack’s lap. They watched shows at random until Jack felt sleepy and decided to go to bed, and Bruce ended up sleeping curled up on the foot of Jack’s bed instead of his own little dog bed in the corner of the room. Jack was fine with that, finding the comfort of Bruce’s weight on his bed somewhat comforting.

Jack and Bruce had developed a quick and easy companionship over the course of that week—the dog accompanying him during his morning runs, Bruce minding his own business playing with his toys or just lounging around the house or yard when Jack was at work (Jack was lucky, as Bruce was extremely well potty-trained), their same routine of passing the time together in Jack’s living room until it was time to go to sleep. Jack loved this dog with his whole heart already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out some [English bull terriers](https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/f-IAAOSw9NdXtccN/s-l300.jpg) my dudes, I love these dogs they're so underrated because a lot of people don't think they're cute. :(
> 
> A l s o. I was super tempted to name the dog Soldier, but, well. Let's just say the fact that I didn't might come in handy later.
> 
> Come see me over at [twitter](https://twitter.com/ventiskull) if y'all wanna yell at someone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes friends, and a big decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Really sorry I wasn't able to keep up with the intended regular scheduled--in fact I'm hideously way off, WAY off because real life stuff has been kicking my ass and in all honesty I don't really have a good outline of this story and mostly just making shit up as I go, but, here it is, and I hope you're all still interested! Also here's a disclaimer that I'm just more or less vehemently ignoring canon ages here, I have no idea how far apart anyone's ages are so I'm not gonna go into detail with the other characters' ages and just go with whoever I feel like has some great chemistry, or whatever. In any case.

Jack didn’t meet his neighbors until over a month into his move.

Said neighbor was one Ana Amari—a slender, dark-skinned and beautiful woman with a peculiar tattoo on one eye, the crows’ feet on the corners of her eyes and the few wisps of graying hair around her temples and interspersed into her thick, neat braid the only very subtle clues that she was older than Jack by a couple of (perhaps more) years.

She’d simply shown up unannounced on his doorstep one Sunday morning carrying glass containers of still-warm food. She promptly introduced herself, went on a little spiel about the importance of community values and being on good terms with your neighbors, or some such thing.

Jack was apprehensive about meeting new people and letting them into his life, especially after the rough few years he’s been through, but he also considered that despite his brain’s constant nagging to isolate to himself, he knew that would ultimately be detrimental to his mental health—and so Jack took a leap out of his comfort zone and invited Ana into his home. Ana smiled warmly at Jack.

“I was hoping you would!” She said, producing a tin of tea out of the cloth bag she brought that contained the welcoming gifts of food she’d meant to give to Jack.

“I’d love to share, I hope you like tea.”

“Tea’s great.” Jack was more of a coffee drinker, but he liked tea well enough and he was always willing to try new things.

During that entire exchange, Bruce had been quietly observing Jack and Ana a few feet away, only approaching when Jack let her in—he approached her slowly, and Ana crouched and offered her hand for the dog to smell. Moments later Bruce was wagging his tail, he nudged her hand and licked it once. He allowed Ana to scratch behind his ears and under his chin.

Jack noticed that Bruce didn’t take well to strangers during their walks around the neighborhood and he usually made it a point to not appear approachable or seem welcoming of touch, and sometimes outright growled lowly at them (in that sense he supposed he and the dog were alike)—but he liked Ana, and that was a good sign already. He was pretty affectionate around people he trusted (again, another point of similarity between Jack and his dog). He could never pinpoint exactly what kind of mental doggy checklist Bruce went by in judging the people he liked and he didn’t, but Jack trusted the old dog’s instincts. Before long he was off again, doing his own thing and leaving the humans alone to do their business.

Jack led Ana into the little dining table in his kitchen, pulling curtains aside and cracking windows open as he went to let in some sunlight and fresh air.

“Make yourself at home.” Jack said, Ana nods and smiles in response and begins to lay down the food containers on the table while Jack boiled water in a kettle and set up mats, plates and utensils. Ana opened the lids and immediately the scent of various spices began to permeate the air inside the house. Jack couldn’t help but take a deep breath, inhaling the smells with gusto. They sit down facing one another at the little round dining table.

“Oh my god, that smells heavenly.” Ana chuckles.

“I hope you like middle eastern food.” Jack laughs, tousling his own hair bashfully.

“Gotta be honest with you I haven’t had as much exposure as I’d like, unfortunately I’m a boring white guy who grew up in a farm who’s eaten nothing but bologna sandwiches for breakfast for the last 30-something years.”

“Jack please tell me you’re joking.”

“I eat cornflakes sometimes.” Ana laughs harder.

“Well, it’s never too late to start getting cultured. I can help you with that.” Jack clasps his hands in front of him and bows his head to Ana.

“Please do.”

Ana begins gesturing to each dish in front of them and reciting their names while Jack does his best to commit them all to memory—falafel, hummus and pita (Jack was at least somewhat familiar with those first three), _fool medammes_ , _kuku sabzi_ —he’ll remember them partially and botch the pronunciation and mince some words, but Ana will forgive him, and in time Jack will overcome his American tendencies.

Ana demonstrates to Jack how to eat each dish, enumerating the ingredients that went into each one as well as the cooking process, and excitedly urging Jack _“here, try this one next”._ It was all very foreign and new to Jack—after all he really wasn’t that adventurous about food himself—foreign, but he greatly enjoyed each dish, relishing the richness and all the bursts of flavor on his tongue.

“Wow, I always knew white people food is considered bland, but I never knew _how_ bland.” Jack says between mouthfuls of food. Ana snorts and laughs at that.

“God, it _is._ I don’t know where your ancestors got off on colonizing, what—over half of the world for spices _and still_ don’t figure out how to season their food.”

“Hey, a chili dog sounds pretty seasoned to me.” Jack retorts.

“Seasoned _my ass._ I went easy on you this one time, think you could handle a little more spice the next time around?”

“Probably not but I can be coerced into eating virtually anything and in the worst case scenario at least you’ll have the satisfaction of watching me choke on my own white boy tears over some spicy food.”

“I’ll beat the culture into you yet, Jack Morrison.” Jack smiles, and shakes his head, briefly contemplating how surprisingly easy it was to talk to and laugh with Ana.

 “Please do.”

They have tea afterwards, an orange-ochre concoction of the subtly spicy sort and sweetened with evaporated milk, which again Jack enjoyed and actually had Ana write down the ingredients and recipe so he could make himself some at home.

Jack and Ana actually begin talking in earnest over tea—Jack mentions his previous work at the police force and in turn he finds out that Ana was a retired captain from the LA police force, having resigned to spare herself the stress and in order to spend more time with her husband (a big, hairy and jolly-looking German man based on the wallpaper on Ana’s phone) and daughter (looked almost exactly like her mother).

 They each shared their own stories during their time in the academy and in the force, regarding their training, some funny experiences that had each of them snorting tea out of their noses, some memorable cases, Jack talking about his family and the farm—and before they knew it, they’d shared three pots of tea between them and it was just a little before lunch time. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to socialize with such little effort. It was a while before Ana got to the inevitable question of relationships, and Jack found that he didn’t mind telling her about his life.

“Girlfriend, Jack?” Jack shook his head.

“Boyfriend?” Ana followed smoothly, and Jack smiled tight-lipped at her.

“Just recently broke off an engagement, actually.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck with unease.

“Ah, my apologies _habibi,_ I shouldn’t have pried.” Ana said, shaking her head, smiling at Jack apologetically and lightly squeezing his shoulder.

“No, no, it’s alright.” Ana did not prod any further, but Jack found himself going on and recounting the tragedy of his and Nathan’s engagement with Ana quietly sipping her tea with her long legs crossed in front of her, nodding and shaking her head every now and then with the occasional expression of disgust as the story turned for the worst.

“—And then he said, _I was going to stop when we got married._ The audacity, can you believe it? God. So I threw all his shit out, didn’t talk to him or anything, told all our friends he was cheating on me and that the engagement was off, and I haven’t looked back since. And, well. That’s how I found myself here, just some farmboy in LA trying to turn over a new leaf.” Jack pauses, Ana lays down her cup on the table, waiting for Jack to go on. Jack laughs nervously.

“Oh god, that was a mouthful, wasn’t it? Sorry for dumping all that on you.” Jack continues to nervously run his fingers through his hair. Ana smiles at him with all the radiance of a saint, and she lightly laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Jack, it’s fine, I don’t mind. And I just have to say—my god, that’s horrible and your wanting to move someplace far to start anew is certainly valid.”

“LA’s been really good to me so far.”

“Yeah? That’s good, then. I’ve only known you for a few hours and I can already tell you’re a good person, Jack—if not a little grumpy and aloof at first glance, but that’s completely understandable—and it’s definitely _his_ loss, not yours.” Ana pauses to take another sip of tea.

“And you’re definitely good-looking, certainly you’ll find some strapping young lads clamoring for just a few minutes of your time here in LA.” She says, punctuating the end of her sentence with a wink. Jack laughs, covering his face with his hands.

“ _Strapping young lads_ —Oh my god, Ana.” He says, still choking a little with laughter.

“Yes Jack, _strapping young lads._ I know a few you might like to meet should you ever decide that you’d like to get back into the dating pool again.”

“Hmmm I don’t think I’m ready for that yet, but thank you for the offer, I trust your impeccable tastes.”

It was another thirty minutes of lively conversation before Ana finally excuses herself. She greets Bruce goodbye and embraces Jack just before leaving.

“I have a feeling this is the beginning of a very good friendship, Jack.”

Jack waves goodbye as she walks off.

“So do I.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

To Jack’s surprise, Ana wasn’t the only quick friendship he made in his first few months in LA, said friends being one Lena Oxton and one Angela Ziegler, who worked with him in the same security company.

 At first thought, Lena—with her quirky, bright, loud personality and bottomless well of energy—seemed like the kind of person that Jack would outright avoid or feel fatigued to be with, it was quite the contrary. Despite her seemingly brash and carefree attitude, Lena was very sensitive and considerate towards people. She had been the first to approach Jack, striking up a conversation with and getting to know the new guy. Lena was polite and an excellent conversationalist—only asked enough, never went too personal and deftly steered into different subjects as soon as she spotted the most minuscule, tell-tale signs of discomfort in Jack’s demeanor.

Angela, who was the resident doctor, was more or less the same in the care she took to be friendly towards Jack without prying. She was incredibly smart with an unexpected sense of humor, and she and Jack could talk about various subjects from world news to mundane things like corn breeds for hours.  

Lena and Angela also saved Jack the trouble of having to befriend every other person in the office, instead taking the liberty to introduce him to each of them and helping ease relations to ensure smooth and comfortable friendships between them.

The fact that all three of them were gay had probably helped their friendship along too.

Jack, Lena and Angela frequently spent their hours after work in the gym and then dinner—Lena talking about her long-distance girlfriend Emily, and enthusiastically trying to find a nice, good-looking girl for Angela and a guy for Jack.

Jack was in no way ready to see other people, not even casually—but he always humored Lena, anyway. Even when a few women ( _Sorry, I’m gay.)_ and men ( _Sorry, I’m a little preoccupied at the moment._ ) from the gym he frequented and elsewhere had tried to ask Jack for his number and/or a date, he’d always gently and politely let them down.

And despite the two women constantly teasing Jack _“you’ve got some standards Morrison, what’s wrong with this one?!”_ or _“Jack come on, I may be a lesbian but even I can tell he’s hot!”,_ Lena never prodded Jack any further, and neither did Angela.

Jack would, however, eventually tell the both of them in embarrassingly articulate detail the very colorful variety of his heartbreaks.

It happened just a little before Christmas, 8 months since he’d moved to LA.

The company staff had decided to go out drinking, and despite Jack’s previous tumbles with alcohol consumption, he trusted himself again and was confident in his progress to allow himself to drink again—if just one of those sweet, fizzy and brightly-colored drinks with the little umbrellas on them. His friends were getting wasted all around him, and being the largest he’d taken it upon himself to make sure they didn’t get into any trouble.

Jack was sitting on the sidewalk just outside the bar quietly enjoying a menthol cigarette when Lena and Angela, the both of them babbling and giggling and absolutely _drunk_ , ambushed Jack from either side, locking their arms around each of Jack’s biceps.

“Hey, hey now, I’m just trying to smoke in peace.” Lena hiccups.

“Jack—so are you gonna tell us yet _why_ you never wanna go out with people? _Come on Jack, what’s your story?”_

“Yeah Jack, you never tell us anything about your dating history!” Angela pitches in, her voice shrill and a little more high-pitched than usual. Jack laughs.

“Look, it’s not like I’m holding out on the two of you it’s just—not very fun, you know? And certainly not a story fit for the occasion, I mean, come on you two we’re here celebrating _after_ our Christmas party and you want me to tell you my shitty emo dating history?” He says, chuckling as he finished his sentences.

“ _Yes.”_ The women say at the same time.

“ _No._ Are you sure? Come on.”

_“Jack pleeeaaasseeeee?”_

At that Jack bellows out another laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he promptly stubs out his finished cigarette and disposes of the filter.

“Alright, alright. Fine. But I really want some cake, if I tell you two then will you go get some cake with me after?”

“ _Yes we will!_ ”

“Well, alright. Ladies—I suggest you buckle up.” Jack says, wrapping his arms around Lena and Angela’s shoulders on either side of him.

Jack didn’t spare them any of the details, the two listening with their heads resting on Jack’s broad shoulders, nodding along or loudly and violently reacting to whatever bullshit Jack’s exes did in his stories. He began with Ryan from his adolescence, to Marcus in college, Eames the straight friend, and down to the gruesome and tragic details of his failed engagement with Nathan. Jack felt a strange rush of calm as he told his stories to Lena and Angela—months ago he wouldn’t even tell his own parents the details of his broken engagement, never even considered he could tell the stories of heartbreak and all the things that fucked up his sense of self and the idea that he could ever be loved—but here he was, retelling it from start to finish to the friends on either side of him, telling it matter-of-factly, like it was someone else’s story and not his, being able to talk about his life without feeling like he was about to split open at the seams. Jack briefly contemplates how far he’s come, how much he’s healed, and he mentally pats himself on the back.

By the end of his story, Lena was comically sobbing into his own shoulder and clinging on to Jack for dear life, and Angela’s face was buried into his shoulder.

“Jack that’s—so—much. God I’m so—sorry—that’s—so terrible—” Lena says (or attempts to) in between drunken sobs and hiccups.

“Jack if I ever see that Nathan I’m going to run him over with my car.” Angela adds, her voice still muffled from having her face smothered in Jack’s shirt. Jack laughs, kissing the two of them on the tops of their hair and squeezing their shoulders tighter.

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m fine. Life goes on, yeah?”

“You’ll find someone who’ll treat you right. _I’ll make sure they treat you right.”_ Jack smiles somberly at that—who knows if he will? But he appreciates the thought nonetheless.

“Thank you Lena, now—” Jack stands up, and starts attempting to pull the two women off of the pavement by their arms.

“—I believe the two of you owe me some _cake.”_

Jack hails a cab for the three of them, and indeed they get some cake and coffee, effectively sobering up the two women, and later he takes them back to their own homes, and later Jack goes to sleep—the most peaceful sleep he’s had among many other peaceful ones, just a little overcome with feelings of appreciation for the friends he’d made and the new life he’d built for himself.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It was another 6 months when Jack arrived at a major decision.

It was a quiet, windy Thursday morning and Jack was at Ana’s house—as was their ritual now—for breakfast and tea. That day, Jack walks into Ana’s house with purpose, her being closest confidant and the sort of older sister figure in his life. It was an idea he’d been nursing at the back of his mind for some time now, and he wanted to run it by her first. They finish catching up by the they’ve eaten breakfast, and Jack waits until tea when he tells Ana.

“Something on your mind, Jack?” Because Ana knows. She just _always_ knows. Jack takes another sip of his tea and then carefully lays it down on its saucer.

“Ana, I wanna go back to the force.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be a tease but.... Y'all are gonna get what you've been asking for in the next chapter. I'm already halfway through it so you'll be getting it pretty soon, just pray for me so I don't end up in another long hiatus. Hang tight! ;)  
> Feel free to come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ventiskull) and [tumblr](https://ventiskull.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work, a beach trip and a chance encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm gonna give the gays everything they want._

Ana takes the news with unsurprising indifference—or rather, calmly, calculated, like she had been expecting it and was simply counting down the days until Jack came to the conclusion himself. Well, such was Ana Amari.

Ana sets down her own cup of tea and rests her perfectly manicured hands over her crossed legs.

“I know. “ She beams at Jack.

“You do?”

“Yes,  _ habibi,  _ I always knew you would eventually. While the security work is nice and stable, I always had the feeling you were the adventurous type.” She says, chuckling as she takes another sip of her tea. Jack laughs.

“Adventurous, huh? Maybe not but—I was  _ real good  _ at it, Ana. I made a difference. I  _ loved  _ what I did and what I helped do. This was always going to be temporary, anyway. As if I’m going to let one asshole ruin my career.” Ana smiles at him again. Jack shuffles his feet a little.

“So… You’re not gonna stop me?”

“No, Jack, I am not. I understand completely, which is why I’m prepared to give a recommendation—I still have some contacts in the department, after all. Only should you wish it, of course. Though I think your exemplary records will get you in just fine, having my good name to back you up.” Ana says with a wink.

“ _ Captain Amari _ flexing it, huh?”

“And I flex real good, Morrison.” They both laugh.

“Ana, I have one last request.”

“Yes?”

“Would you take care of Bruce if work ends up keeping me away from home?” Ana smiles.

“Of course, Bruce is excellent company. I’d be more than glad to have him over.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Two weeks later, Jack submits the required paperwork, and in three days’ time gets called in for an interview by the precinct captain.

The precinct captain was an ape of a man—large and muscular, hairy—with a stern and cold face named Harold Winston. Despite his quite intimidating demeanor he was, however, generally even-tempered during the course of the interview. He was a good friend and old subordinate of Ana Amari’s and proclaimed to trust her judgment greatly, saying she would not have handed in a recommendation if Jack was not outstanding and trustworthy in some way—not that his records weren’t impressive by themselves, he told Jack, and that the city and all its tangles of problems could certainly use a man like Jack.

Jack was offered a job on the spot.

There was a somewhat lengthy discussion regarding paperwork that needed to be accomplished, salary, some policies and guidelines— but ultimately, Jack accepts them all. He reads and signs a few more things, and then it was settled. He shakes hands with the Captain who offers him a smile, which Jack returns. He goes home, quickly drafts his resignation letter, texts Lena and Angela to meet up with him at the dog park where he takes Bruce, and he tells them about the new job.

Another three days later, Jack tells his other friends at the company and files in his resignation.

The resignation didn’t trouble him so much since the station wasn’t that far from where he lived—and Lena and Angela didn’t live more than a 20-minute or so drive away from him, either, and that meant they could still see each other often, although it was likely that Jack’s new (reclaimed) job would keep him at longer hours working—but Jack liked to think he’d always been good at managing his time and (platonic) relationships.

The office decides that Jack deserved a going-away event of some sort—of which the planning completely uninvolved Jack, courtesy of Lena and Angela.

Said going-away event ended up being a beach trip scheduled two days before Jack was set to begin work at the force—he was probably going to show up on his first day a little toasted and sunburnt, but he didn’t mind. Jack promptly received a text message from Lena informing him that he prepare his sunblock and swimming trunks (or lack thereof if he preferred, she said, though it was highly discouraged since it “seems unbecoming of an  _ officer of the law” _ ), and that he could take Bruce along. It occurs to Jack that he—bumfuck rural white American farmboy that he is—hasn’t been to the beach in a long time, and so he was hideously underprepared for such a trip. Two days piror he goes out shopping for the appropriate clothes, some sunglasses, a beach towel, sunblock, an abundance of snacks (for himself, the group and Bruce) and beer—he even buys a few toys for Bruce to play with.

Jack was a thorough and efficient man, even in trivial things like vacation trips. He goes over his list of supplies multiple times, checking that he had everything and if there was anything else he needed to add. He packs all his things and the non-perishables neatly into the back of his car. He does another mental check and, satisfied, closes the rear hatch. As soon as the door clicks shut, Jack feels himself suddenly washed into a wave of—something akin to nostalgia, but not quite.

He seats himself in a chair next to a little coffee table he kept outside of the house specifically for smoke breaks. Tonight, like most nights, it was just him, a cup of tea and the cool night breeze. In the distance—now coming closer—he hears Bruce’s claws clicking on the floor, until the grizzled old canine emerges from his little dog door, tail wagging. He saunters towards Jack and, without warning, bounds into Jack’s lap—Jack’s mercifully quick reflexes only just lifting the cup of hot tea away in the nick of time, preventing the contents from spilling on both himself and the dog. Jack laughs, laying down the cup of tea on the table to scratch the back of Bruce’s ears with one hand, and under his chin with the other. “Old bastard.” He says affectionately, scratching spots he knew Bruce liked best. Bruce wasn’t always cuddly, but when he was, Jack made sure to make the best out of those moods. He continues to pet Bruce while he wanders into the recesses of his mind ౼Jack was, after all, a man who practiced constant reflection. The feeling washes over him then, that alien but also vaguely familiar feeling of starting over again with a renewed sense of hope and enthusiasm and another chapter in his so far tumultuous life. He allows himself a private smile, relishing in the excitement. He goes to bed a half hour later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They arrive at the beach sometime around lunch, and so the first thing Jack does is go about preparing the set-up and ingredients for the grill and gently reminding his friends —mostly Lena—not to eat snacks before they had lunch, of which there was absolutely no shortage of “ _ okay, dad”  _ jokes that Jack takes with a smile and a snort that Lena was lovingly dubbed his “dad huff”.

The weather was just the right amount of warm and thankfully cloudy that Jack wouldn’t have to worry about excessive sunburn and the horrible reddening and peeling that comes after. Jack, after letting the food he’d just eaten digest for over an hour (warranting another  _ god you’re such a dad  _ remark from Lena), Jack decides to go for a swim. He pulls off his shirt and —

“ _ Holy fucking shit.”  _ He hears Lena wolf-whistle just behind him. Ah, right. None of his new acquaintances have seen him totally shirtless before—not even Lena or Angela in their gym sessions.

It was a little known fact to most people that Jack had tattoos, his conservative upbringing forcing him to get his tattoos done in easy to conceal areas. Jack was also somewhat  _ modest _ —yet another result of his conservative upbringing—and so he never really went shirtless unless he absolutely had to.

Jack was fond of traditional American, Sailor Jerry-style tattoos. If he was going to be stereotyped  _ all-American boyscout  _ he might as well make the look his own, right? He thought to himself. There were no significant meanings behind each tattoo, just that Jack thought they looked good. An intricately detailed and colorful eagle with its wings spread across his back, a flaming heart on the center of his chest and twin swallows on either side of his breast just below the junction where his collar bones meet his shoulder, an anchor on one deltoid. Jack was committed to taking care of them too and he had them retouched on a regular basis. 

He turns around to look at Lena, who was exaggerating the motion of pulling her sunglasses down to gawk at Jack who was only just halfway through pulling his shirt off.

“See something you like?” He teases. Lena gets up from her spot on the beach towel laid on the sand.

“What else do you have can I see them  _ please Jack?”  _ She says excitedly. Jack pulls his shirt off the rest of the way, neatly folding it and laying it on his own towel before he lets Lena take a closer look at his tattoos.

“Have to admit I never pegged you for the type Jack—these are  _ awesome.”  _ Jack laughs at that.

“Thanks.” He puts two fingers into his mouth and whistles. Bruce gets up from his spot under an umbrella and follows Jack by the heels into the shallows of the water. 

Truth be told Jack had always been just a little self-conscious about showing off his tattoos, but hey, if he was going to start getting out of his comfort zone, he might as well go all out. Jack knew he had a pretty good physique and coupled with the body ink, he was well aware of the looks he was getting from men and women alike and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t boost his ego considerably. It was nice to know he was still attractive and maybe not a hopeless case despite his unfortunate string of failed commitments౼but he pushed those thoughts very quickly out of his mind.

The day is spent playing frisbee with Bruce and then with his friends and co-workers, then walking along the coast with his dog traipsing ahead of him just taking in the sights and breeze, then drinks and talking. Eventually Jack settles with taking a seat on the now-cooled sand next to Angela, a little ways away from the chatter, just looking at the sunset and the waves lapping at the shore.

They have a few quiet, satisfying minutes until a ball lands in the space between Jack and Angela, sending particles of sand flying in all directions and causing the two of them to instinctively cover their eyes.  

In the distance, someone wolf whistles,  _ loudly, _ then౼

_ ”Hey, hotstuff, pass it over here.” _

The corners of Jack’s vision fill with red, the vein in his temple throbbing ever so slightly. He’s not about to just let some asshole get away with catcalling.

Angela was about to just ignore the taunt and toss the ball back without a fuss, clearly already  _ unfortunately _ used to men and their antics, but Jack was not about to just go with it. He takes the ball from her with one hand, raises it up in the air. 

“Hey dipshit, if you want the ball back come get it yourself.” Jack says, loud, clear and surprisingly composed—just a little short of actually yelling.

A few moments pass, and then a man begins to approach.

Jack feels just a little taken aback as the man comes closer—he probably just as tall, if not just a little taller, than Jack—but he was clearly much heavier-set. His dark tank top and board shorts did little to conceal the bulk and rippling curves of his muscles.

Jack does not regret his decision, but in the back of his mind he was already calculating his next possible moves should the situation escalate into something more like a fight—he’s confident in his fighting abilities, it’s just that it wasn’t very often that Jack, standing at 6”1 and weighing over 200 pounds, encountered men bigger than he was.

Ah,  _ well _ .

Jack enjoyed challenges.

The man stopped in front of him—his brown skin, shiny with sunblock and sweat and seawater, glistened in the sun. Jack couldn’t help but admire the stranger’s stark curly black, closely cropped at the sides, the thick mass at the center was carelessly tousled with moisture and physical activity but still looked like it was deliberately styled.

He wore aviator sunglasses, and the man’s thick, dark and immaculately trimmed facial hair covered parts of his mouth so Jack couldn’t really tell what the expression on his face was. He stood with arms clasped behind his back, not exactly threatening, simply—waiting. Jack remained stock still, legs crossed in front of him and glaring, making no move to hand over the ball he kept firmly at his side. The man held a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat.

“I’d like to have my ball back, please.” Jack rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue.

“Sure, bud. You can have it back when you apologize to my friend for being an ass. Catcalling? In this day and age?  _ Hotstuff?  _ Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

Jack sits up straight, laying the ball down by his feet and folding his arms across his chest sternly in order to get his point across. The man stands still, bowing his head a little and shuffling his bare feet in the sand, seemingly a little apprehensive—not exactly the reaction Jack was expecting. Then he removes his sunglasses, pushing it upward so the glasses now sat on top of his hair.

He had startlingly brown eyes, thick and dark brows, a strong nose.

_ God he was handsome. _

Given the inappropriateness of the situation, Jack vehemently pushed down thoughts of how unfairly attractive the man was, nothing but the smallest twitch of his face would have given away that he thought so.  _ “It’s always assholes who are this good-looking.” _

The man turned to face Angela.

“I apologize for my behavior, ma’am. I didn’t mean to cause any disrespect or undue stress.” He said, sounding perfectly sincere, clasping his hands together in front of him, his brows furrowed and his lips pulled into a tight line—overall a fairly convincing picture of a man making a genuine apology. Angela simply pulls the corners of her mouth into a sheepish smile, nodding very slightly in acknowledgment of the apology.

Well, that was a lot easier than Jack expected—he was almost thrown off by such amicable behavior. He shakes his head and snorts as he tosses the ball to the man, the man catches the ball effortlessly, and without thinking of it Jack mutters “ _ this is why straight men are garbage”  _ quickly and sharply under his breath.

The man’s movements still for a few moments. Jack holds his breath.

“With all due respect—” the man says, and Jack looks up again at him. The man waves his hand out and cocks his head, gesturing to Angela.

“—to you, ma’am, because I think you’re very beautiful and I mean that in the most respectful way possible—”

“—but when I said  _ hotstuff _ — _ ”  _ he looks down on the ground at his feet, biting down firmly on his lower lip like he was trying to suppress a grin or a laugh.

“—I was referring to  _ you _ .” He’s looking at Jack now —bashfully, somewhat coyly— and all his lip-biting proves useless as a wide, toothy grin begins to crack its way onto his face, wrinkling his eyes at the corners and pushing dimples into his cheeks.

“My apologies again, ma’am—and to you sir, for my rude behavior and any distress I may have caused. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” He gives one final smile and a little bow of his head before turning on his heels, jogging back to his companions with the ball tucked underneath his arm.

It was very quiet between Jack and Angela while Jack’s brain tried to process what had just happened. Jack suddenly felt a little warm in the face and in the ears—and most likely not from the heat of the blistering afternoon sun—and before he could say anything, the silence was broken by Angela’s laughter—a booming, ringing laughter that didn’t match the source  _ at all,  _ a laughter that he’s sure he’s never heard from her and, as it turns out, never will again. She was doubled over, clutching her stomach with one hand and the other attempting to cover her face, now red and glistening with tears. Jack himself was still a little too stunned to react. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Remember kids, cat-calling is bad!** But let's hope our mystery man has a chance to redeem himself yet!
> 
> In any case I'm very sorry about the late update and I have to admit, a bit of a hurried one but school really kicked my ass the last few months and I wanted to put this up in time for the holidays so--there we go, hope you guys enjoyed it. Stay tuned, we're gonna got some more interaction from here on out!
> 
> Among other things: Jack the benevolent lesbian shepherd is a trope none of you will ever be able to pry out of my hands, and also the tattoo bit was a last-minute self-indulgent thing I wanted to add thanks to @Coelasquid on twitter's suggestion about Jack with Sailor Jerry tattoos and, well, I couldn't resist. Who knows, might do something with that later. ;)
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ventiskull) if you wanna come yell at me! As always comments are appreciated. :)


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